I dig my toes into the warm sand, as I huddle under the tattered shawl. Crashing waves, a cacophonous song that has played in my head hundreds of times. The song that dulls my troubling mind so I can relax. I pull out another blanket and move further up to stay dry from the waves creeping closer and closer. I lay down and pull my shawl up and stare into the star-filled sky. A plane passes by, I imagine it’s going somewhere exotic like the African savannah or the Amazon jungle. What I wouldn’t give to be somewhere else. A dog barks in the distant. I go completely still, a chill runs down my back. “Oh no! They’re here.”

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Lesson 1 – The Kitchen

My kitchen had yellow counters and brown cabinets with linoleum floors, how 70’s. The counters seemed tall when I was young. The kitchen was small. It was shaped like a U. Normally three people could be in the kitchen, but if the dishwasher was open then only two. My sister and I loved to pin-up our A+ tests on the refrigerator door filled with magnets. When I was little I would sit on the counter eating vada while mom would tell me old Indian folktales. Wish I could remember those tales now. Kitchen was spic-spot when not in use. The best part about our kitchen was the kitchen window. You could see the large maroon wooden deck leading to the lush backyard. In the winter it was wondrous to see the trees with fresh-fallen snow and icicles from the rafters. Nice when you were stuck doing the kitchen dishes. The counter dividing the kitchen from the dining room had a cassette deck player where my sister and I would play our books on tape, I think we have listened to Beauty and the Beast, not the Disney one, more times than I can remember. One of our favorite tapes was a recording of me when I was three singing ABC’s to my masi. This was taken when my sister was born; apparently I was willing to give her my crayons and my room. How quickly that changed once she got older. My mother was ALWAYS in the kitchen, even after the meals were done. One time we had my kaka’s family over and we were all sitting down to watch a Hindi movie. I wanted so much for my mom to come sit with us. Instead she stayed in the kitchen and made nasta, indian snacks. I couldn’t understand, all I wanted was for her to be with us. I didn’t care about the nasta. Now I realize that maybe she didn’t actually want to be in the kitchen either, but felt compelled that preparing food for the next day was her responsibility.